I got into the cab:
Taxi driver: “Where?”
Me: “Bangsar. Bangsar shopping centre. Bangsar.”
Idiot TD: “Sorry, I don’t know it”
Me: “OK. Hmm. You don't know Bangsar?”
Complete ITD: “Bang. Sar?”
Me: “Yes. Bangsar. Bang. Sar. Shop. Ping. Cen. Tah."
He handed me a pen and paper and I wrote BANGSAR on it.
C Fucking ITD: “Ah, Bang-SAAAH”
Me: “Yes, that’s it”
CFITD: “I don’t know where it is.”
So I handed him my iPhone, with a map showing where we were, and where Bangs-AAH is (about 3 km away)
CFITD (shaking head) "don’t know where it. Never heard of it."
CFITD (shaking head) "don’t know where it. Never heard of it."
Me: “But it’s here. Here is a map. We are here (pointing) and I want to go there (again pointing)”
CFITD: “No, sorry, I don’t know it. Never heard of it.”
Never heard of it. Right. It's like a London cabbie saying "London? Nah, never 'eard of it mate"
So I got out of the cab and hailed another one, who (a) understood “Bangsar” without me having to repeat it ten times and write it down, and (b) who knew where it was – and off I went and met the others (who were running late too due to ridiculousness traffic) at Bangsar Shopping Centre, only to then realise that I'd got the wrong shopping centre and should have gone to Bangsar Village! So I wasn't able to take them to any of the places I had discovered with Charles on a Sunday, and we only had the choice of expensive Western restaurants.
Oh well, it was quite a novelty to actually use a knife and fork again after such a long time (in fact, weirdly though, I felt more at home when the deserts came and I had a fork and spoon!).
We moved on from there to the WIP bar that I'd been to before and I got completely shitted there, got home about 2.30 am, cooked curry puffs and passed out.

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